Snoodle-lips & Brainiac
by bramble
Summary: (J/D) "Okay, let me get this straight. Because you're a guy, as long as you're getting laid, you're not supposed to mind that your girlfriend is probably using you and that you don't love her, or possibly, even like her?"


Title: Snoodle-lips & Brainiac by Bramble   
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: "Okay, let me get this straight. Because you're a guy, as long as you're getting laid,   
you're not supposed to mind that your girlfriend is probably using you and that you  
don't love her, or possibly, even like her?"  
Spoilers: Thru Dead Irish Writers.  
Disclaimers: Not mine. Still. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr...  
Feedback: the coolest thing in the whole world!  
  
* * *   
  
There was this knocking. And not just any knocking -- it was very familiar, purposeful   
knocking -- bordering on annoying. Donna sighed, got out of bed, and walked across the  
room. She rested her forehead against the surface of the door for a second of calm before...   
  
"Josh?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
When she unlocked and opened the barrier between them, she was greeted with a   
slightly-too-enthusiastic-for-two-in-the-morning, "How you doin'?", as he stood there,   
staring at her, swaying lightly, tie undone, and dimples on display.   
  
"You're drunk."   
  
"You're right," he agreed happily, walking past her while she shut and relocked the door.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because I drank too much."   
  
"Not how Josh...why."   
  
"Oh," his forehead wrinkled. "I forget."   
  
"And also, you have your own home, you know."   
  
"And you, Donnatella," he pointed at the air in her direction, "have your own coat."   
  
"What?"   
  
"What?" He asked, looking confused.   
  
"I know I have a coat."   
  
"Right and yet you wore mine," he stated smugly.   
  
"Oh that. It was warmer."   
  
"A ha!" He exclaimed suddenly.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Your apartment's warmer," he stated simply.   
  
"So, I see this is going to be an exercise in banality." She watched him take his coat   
off and throw it on her new chair. "Wait. You have a girlfriend."   
  
"So?"   
  
"So, why aren't you there. You know, bugging her and say, not me?"   
  
"She's in Tulsa."   
  
"Oklahoma?"   
  
He snorted. "No, Donna, Tulsa, France."   
  
"Okay."   
  
"Yeah, there's some conference or something."   
  
"You don't even know what conference it is, do you?"   
  
"A womany one. I dunno. I wasn't really paying attention," he paused. "I do, however,   
know that it's in Tulsa."   
  
"And you know where Tulsa is."   
  
"Ohhhhk-la-homa! Where the..." He sang out. "That's all I know," noticing her smirk he   
added, "and I blame that horrible bar."   
  
"Right," she agreed, trying not to laugh as Josh turned around, looking even more   
confused. Then he did a complete spin, almost falling over in the process.   
  
"Hey -- where's your couch?"   
  
"Josh, I have a studio apartment now."   
  
"Yeah. This looks smaller."   
  
"And the couch was my roommate's," she elaborated.   
  
"That would explain all the cat hair."   
  
"Right. So, no roommate, no couch. Studio."   
  
"Well, where am I supposed to sleep then?"   
  
"Well," she paused, "how about your place?"   
  
"But I'm at your place now," he whined.   
  
"Yes, you are." Donna grabbed his arm and plopped him down in the oversized, red   
velvet chair that she had fallen in love with a couple of months ago -- right on top of his  
discarded coat.   
  
"There you go. Goodnight."   
  
"Donna!"   
  
"What?"   
  
"This is a chair."   
  
"Yes. It's the coolest chair in the whole world, Josh."   
  
"It's a whorehouse chair," he paused for a second, then noticed her opening her mouth,   
a smirk on her face. "Shut up," he said, before she could make whatever snarky comment  
she'd been planning. Then he added, "I'm supposed to sleep here?"   
  
"No. You're supposed to sleep at your place. But since that's evidently not going to happen,   
yes, there you go. Goodnight," she said, while patting him on the head, then made her  
way back across the room to her big, comfortable-looking bed. He watched her climb in and   
snuggle into the covers, a frown firmly plastered upon his face.   
  
* * *   
  
"Donna?"   
  
He didn't yell and she was grateful for that. It was actually a soft, polite vocalization of   
her name -- so she decided to respond in good faith.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Is there like a place for my feet at least? Like a cushion or..."   
  
"No."   
  
"Oh," came his disappointed reply.   
  
"If you paid me more, perhaps there'd be a cushion for you."   
  
"Funny."   
  
"Yes," she agreed, smiling into the covers.   
  
It was quiet for a few minutes, then she heard him get up.   
  
And walk towards the bed -- a couple of minutes later he was next to her.   
  
"Hey. It's me," he whispered.   
  
"Yeah. I kinda figured that out, Josh. Why aren't you in the chair?"   
  
"The chair sucks."   
  
She turned to face him, then glared. "It does not!"   
  
"It does too for sleeping."   
  
"Well, it's a chair. Don't sleep in it."   
  
"I'm not," he supplied helpfully.   
  
"Oh, Josh."   
  
"What?"   
  
She took a breath. "Do you not, like, see anything possibly inappropriate with   
coming over to my apartment at two in the morning, drunk, and then crawling into   
bed with me?"   
  
"Well, when you say it like that..."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
He considered this further. "But, no. Not really. It's just -- kinda normal feeling."   
  
She thought for a second, finally coming to the conclusion that she pretty much agreed   
with him. "God we're weird."   
  
"Yeah. At least I'm drunk though," Josh added.   
  
"True."   
  
They laid there in the dark silence for a few minutes.   
  
* * *   
  
"I know I'm going to regret this but -- can I ask you a girly question?"   
  
"Oh god," she turned towards him again, then noticed his serious, concerned face   
and immediately softened. "Okay, what?"   
  
"Nevermind."   
  
"No. What, Josh? Ask me."   
  
"Dr. Freeride..." he started.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"You loved him, right?"   
  
"Yeah," she answered honestly, wondering where this could possibly be going.   
  
"Right," Josh nodded. "Of course you did."   
  
There was another brief silence.   
  
"Was that your question?"   
  
"No. I just...I don't know...I mean," he sighed. "It's stupid."   
  
"Josh."   
  
"The other night, Amy...she was joking, I think. See, she had just...well, that doesn't   
matter, but she asked, 'Love me?' and all I could think was, 'No. No I don't -- in fact,  
sometimes you kinda bug me'. And I'm pretty sure she just thinks of me as a way to   
further her political agenda, which is amazingly ironic, but...well, it bothers me.   
I know it's not supposed to, but..."  
  
"Why isn't it supposed to?" She asked, looking confused.   
  
"Because of the sex."   
  
"The lovemaking?"   
  
"Yeah," Josh paused. "But really, not so much that."   
  
"The sex-making," Donna clarified, watching him nod. "Okay, let me get this straight.   
Because you're a guy, as long as you're getting laid, you're not supposed to mind that your  
girlfriend is probably using you and that you don't love her, or possibly, even like her?"   
  
"Yeah. That."   
  
There was a long, almost-awkward moment where they just stared at one another.   
  
"God you're an idiot," Donna finally blurted out.   
  
"Donna!"   
  
"Josh!"   
  
"What? So you don't think that makes me, I don't know, kinda effeminate?"   
  
"No," she answered, rolling her eyes. "I think that this just makes you, I don't   
know, kinda normal," she said mockingly, although the tone in which she stated this   
information was nothing but soft and kind.   
  
"See, I missed that day in college. You know, when they tell you about..."   
  
Donna put her hand to his mouth and rested her fingers against his lips before he   
could say more. "Josh. Poor, confused, addle-minded Josh. Men can want affection. And want to  
be in love with the person they're sleeping with. It's not strictly a girlish thing."   
  
"It doesn't seem to be bothering Amy," he replied, after he gently pulled her  
hand away.   
  
Donna shrugged. "Maybe she's getting what she wants from you so it doesn't bother   
her. But you, you want things you aren't getting from this relationship."   
  
"You're saying I want to be...in love?" He said with a snort, not looking entirely convinced.   
  
"Would that be so horrible?" She asked and was pretty sure she saw him shake his head   
negatively in agreement, all the while watching her intently. "And no, maybe not in *love*, but  
maybe wanting to like the person you've become," she paused for effect, "ensorcelled with."   
  
"Hey -- I never told you about the ensorcellation."   
  
"Toby talks," she answered, smiling at him.   
  
He mulled this information over and decided his drunkenness was enough of an excuse to   
throw out a non-sequiter of sorts, as well as to tell a possible Josh being cute anecdote.   
  
"When I was in grade school I had a, well, kind of a girlfriend -- in the way you have a   
girlfriend when you're like ten," he started, then took in Donna's 'ohhhhhhhh Josh',  
expression -- he stopped her. "Please don't get all emotional -- it's not that cute.   
Anyway, Emma...something. She went to camp that summer and wrote me a letter every night," he  
finished, looking all wistful. "I think I might still have them somewhere....I hope I do."   
  
"That is so cute, Josh," Donna insisted from her spot beside him, under the covers. "And sweet."   
  
"I don't think Amy's gonna write me a letter tonight from Tulsa," he stated   
matter-of-factly. "Tulsa, Oklahoma."   
  
"Or Tulsa, France, for that matter," Donna added, watching him grin slightly.   
  
"Before she left, she smiled and said, 'See you Friday, Jack-ass'."   
  
Donna couldn't help but cringe.   
  
"And I'm not quite sure how to take that," Josh continued. "It doesn't really have   
the same ring as, oh, I don't know, 'I miss you, snoodle-lips'," he ignored Donna's questioning  
look. "Plus, when the hell did my girlfriend start talking like Mrs. B?"   
  
"Snoodle-lips?" Donna asked, laughing.   
  
Josh sighed. "I mentioned I was drunk, right?"   
  
"Yeah," she said softly, grateful that he seemed to be getting sleepy -- and possibly   
getting a clue.   
  
"Good, because I don't want you to remember this in the morning."   
  
"Okay," she smiled. "Get some sleep."   
  
"Okay."   
  
He turned into her, snuggling a bit and mumbled, "your bed is warmer," into the skin of   
her shoulder. And she knew it was inappropriate as hell to let your boss snuggle into you as  
he fell asleep, but at that moment, she just didn't care.   
  
It was nice -- and it was warmer.   
  
So warm that a couple of hours later, Josh removed his pants, no small feat while he was still   
half-asleep, and then returned into his previous position, spooning into Donna's back,  
his palm resting against the curved rise of her silk-covered hip. He sighed happily  
when she pushed back and wiggled against him, and he realized he could feel the backs of her bare   
legs and thighs against the skin of his own bare legs.   
  
* * *   
  
When Donna woke up, the clock radio by her bed switching on and filling the room with World   
Update From the BBC on NPR, she turned to see Josh still lying next to her, encased in   
a big, fluffy cocoon of bedding, and staring at her with large, wide-awake eyes.   
  
"Where are my pants?"   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Pants," he repeated. "I'm not wearing pants."   
  
"And you're asking me this because...?"   
  
Josh sighed and sat up, swinging his legs out of Donna's bed. He looked down. "Ahhh, here they are,   
I must've taken them off at some point."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Right," he held his pants on his lap, still not looking at her. "We probably shouldn't tell   
anyone about this."   
  
"Probably not," Donna agreed, sitting up.   
  
"Because I can think of a few people who would kill me if they knew I got drunk and came over   
here and slept with you," he said, then got up and started to put his pants on when  
he froze. "Oh! I mean, slept in bed with you. I know we didn't...umm...not sleep...in the bed."   
  
"Right. We just slept, Josh."   
  
He pulled his pants the rest of the way up before proclaiming, "Let's get you a couch."   
  
"I have a better idea -- let's train you to find your own home after three Absolut martinis.   
Besides, I told you, a couch won't fit. This is a studio."   
  
"Yeah," he agreed. "It does look smaller than before."   
  
She nodded patiently. "Even sober -- you're a quick one."   
  
"Right. Speaking of which, could we pretend I didn't make an ass out of myself last night.   
You know, like we normally do when I make an ass out of myself."   
  
They locked eyes for a few seconds before he looked away, seemingly a little embarrassed.   
  
"Josh, you didn't do or say..."   
  
"I need to get home. Take a shower." He pulled his wallet out. "Can you bring coffee?"   
When she made a face, he offered to quiz her for her 'I want to be an American again' test  
-- an offer she accepted with a nod. Josh threw a ten on the bed, then they both watch   
it slide down the hill formed by her covered, right foot.   
  
"Well. Now, this just looks bad," she joked.   
  
"Yeah," he snickered. "You should really charge more."   
  
"Josh, I meant what I said last night about..."   
  
"I know," he cut her off, hand raised mid-air. "Unfortunately, I do remember the whole   
conversation."   
  
"Good. You should think about it."   
  
"Yeah," he reached for his coat off the chair, then did a double-take at the red velvet   
upholstery. He kept his eyes focused on the chair as he spoke. "I know. It's just -- I do this all  
the time. And I love it. I really do, it's all I ever wanted to do, but..."   
  
"What?" She asked, not quite sure what he was getting at, as he turned to face her.   
  
"It's nice to go off strategy-mode sometimes. I'm sick of having to be on my guard all the time,"   
he sighed, then continued. "My personal life has become just another facet of my  
work life and...it's exhausting. Hell, I must be getting old or something because this kind   
of thing never bothered me before."   
  
Donna rubbed her eyes, then followed Josh's eyes down her chest and pulled the covers up   
a little higher over her white tank top, not quite knowing what to say besides just   
agreeing with everything he'd just said.   
  
"She's just..." he struggled for the right words, "too much like me. It's like, all me, all   
the time -- which of course, sounds like it would be a really good thing, but...my god, it's really  
starting to annoy the hell out of me," he grinned. "Seriously, Donna, how do you do it?"   
  
She laughed. "I'm just used to it, I guess."   
  
"Well, I'm not. I mean, I'm dating myself. Myself with...girl parts. That's just so fucked up.   
That's like the most narcissistic and disturbing thing ever on like, two hundred different  
levels," he continued, matching her amused expression with his own.   
  
"It really is, Josh."   
  
"And you're not the least bit surprised by this situation I now find myself in -- are you?"   
  
"No, not really."   
  
"Yeah," Josh shrugged. "Me neither," he answered, closing up the remaining distance between   
himself and Donna's front door. "Coffee, Donna."   
  
"I know, Josh."   
  
"Yeah. I know. I just like to say the word 'coffee' followed by your name," he paused.   
"And thanks."   
  
"You like to say thanks?" She teased.   
  
He turned, and said, "No." Then he smiled and clarified what he meant, saying, "Thank you for   
last night," in a very sincere tone. So sincere, that Donna was taken back for a second.   
  
"You're welcome. You do deserve all that stuff, you know."   
  
"Yeah," he agreed. "You do too."   
  
"I know that already."   
  
"You're a very smart woman," he answered, unlocking the door.   
  
She grinned. "Well, yeah."   
  
"See you in a bit, Brainiac," he threw out over his shoulder, laughing softly.   
  
"Okay, snoodle-lips," she whispered with a grin, noticing the way he paused slightly at her   
words, before closing her door behind him.   
  
For some reason just beyond her grasp, this whole exchange made her inexplicably happy and,   
Donna thought with a laugh, rising from the bed and heading toward the bathroom,  
the whole snoodle-lips thing was definitely going to be fun.   
  
* * *   
  
The End 


End file.
